Borders Crossed
by LilPotterfanfic
Summary: He was the unseen genius who watched over her. She was the dreamer with a fascination for the Opera Ghost. Together, their love can conquer the evil that lurks in the shadows of Paris. (Christine/ Erik and Raoul/ OC. Featuring a haunting Phantom and an innocent Christine.)
1. From Behind the Mirror

**Borders Crossed  
Act 1, Scene 1: **From Behind the Mirror

**A/N: Hey guys, this is my very first Phantom of the Opera fanfic, so please go easy on me. Basically, the plot is that the Phantom never became the Angel of Music, and kept his distance from Christine, so she became a little obsessed about the Phantom of the Opera. **

Erik paused outside the mirror portal, his hand hovered over the latch that would reveal him to the girl on the other side. The weeping waif with long blonde curls and the face of a goddess. The orphan with a voice purer than water and more beautiful than Elysium.

The mourning angel.

The plan should be simple. All Erik had to do was pull the latch, revealing himself to the newly orphaned Christine Daae. He would introduce himself as the mysterious Angel of Music her father had spoken of, and offer his services to her as a tutor. From then on, she would be his personal protege. He would mold that voice of silk into the ultimate epitome of musical genius.

Ignoring the internal voice that urged him to turn back, Erik closed his hand over the latch. He was just about to reveal himself to her, when he heard it.

Christine's beautiful voice rose and danced around the room in an aria that reminded Erik of air.

_"Father once spoke of an Angel_

_I used to dream he'd appear_

_Now as I sing I can sense him_

_And I know he's here._

_May an angel of music _

_Guide and Guard me!_

_Grant me to your glory."_

Erik inhaled softly as he heard the pain in the twelve-year-old's voice. He could not do this to her. No, he could not play her for a fool and deceive her for his own devices. It would be too cruel to use her pain against her.

So Erik made a promise, he would watch over this young star from the shadows, and make sure that no harm would come her way.

Yes, he would be her silent guardian.

Her angel of music.

**Paris France, 1870, the Opera Populaire**

Christine sighed dreamily as she watched Meg and the ballet dancers whirl about the stage. The jewels on their bodices winked under the spotlights, and the strings of their skirts snapped in unison, adding a staccato harmony to the melody of the orchestra. The eyes of all the males gathered in the theater flashed to the skimpy slave- girl costumes like a school of fish, and Christine felt someone staring at her. She shivered uncomfortably under the lusty gaze and moved back a step so that the dancers hid her from the view of anyone not onstage.

The obviously sexual dance complete, Piangi stepped forward once more for yet another off key solo.

"Echemm," Monsieur Gabriel said hurriedly, just as Piangi had opened his mouth to sing. "Everyone, I would like to introduce our new patrons, the Vicomptes DeChagny."

Christine's breath caught in her throat as the two statuesque men stepped onto the stage.

"Raoul," she whispered, while the managers, Debienne and Poligny, crowded around the brothers DeChagny.

Christine had not seen Raoul DeChagny since her childhood in Sweden, when the two would play together. Raoul had always been of the chivalrous sort. In fact, Christine still wore the red scarf he'd swum out to sea to retrieve for her.

She was abruptly pulled from her memories when Meg latched herself on to Christine's arm, tittering away about the new patrons and the new managers, Armand and Firmin.

"And look," Meg whispered viciously, pointing downstage, "La Carlotta's already trying to get into their good graces!"

Christine followed the direction of Meg's finger and registered with a feeling of disgust that Raoul was currently kissing the diva's hand, the top of his head a mere few inches from her exposed bosom.

Christine turned away, blushing a furious red, and chided herself for her uncharitable thoughts. Raoul was not hers, and had not been for years. She would be surprised if he even remembered her name.

"Carlotta _is _the diva, Meg," she said quietly, "She's already in their good graces."

But Meg was paying her friend no attention, instead she was staring avidly at La Carlotta, and expression of abject horror upon her strong- featured face. "Oh good Lord, she's going to sing the aria."

Christine winced as well, a memory of the last rendition's sharp notes bouncing about her head. "You didn't happen to bring those wax earplugs, did you?" she asked hopefully.

Meg scowled and motioned at her skimpy costume. "Does this look as though it has pockets?"

Christine sighed as La Carlotta's shaky voice echoed about the theater. What a shame, _Think of Me _really was such a beautiful song. If only they had a talented diva, oh how marvelous is would sound then! She lost herself in the fantasy of the music, La Carlotta's voice fading in her head and being replaced with Christine's own. In the depths of her mind, Christine worked through the song, marking a breath here, a carry over here, and a crescendo there.

Her gaze automatically drifted to Box 5, the only box in the Opera Populaire that was ever empty. Still lost in the aria, Christine absent mindedly roamed the box with her eyes, searching for some glimmer of _him, _when a hint of movement stopped her.

There he stood.

His tall frame was draped in a black cloak, the hood pulled up over his head and casting his face into shadow. A white porcelain mask obscured the left side of his features. An infuriated scowl graced his lips. His eyes bored into hers.

With a nod of acknowledgement, the Phantom bowed to her, pulled his hood further down on his head, and disappeared into the shadows of the box.

And then, all hell broke loose.

Screams shot through Carlotta's solo, dancers hurried out of the way as the backdrop creaked and shuddered and shook. La Carlotta's voice rose even higher in pitch as she tried to continue the aria, not yet realizing what was happening.

"Christine!" Meg shouted, tugging on her arm, "We must get out of the way!"

Shaking herself from her reverie, Christine allowed her friend to pull her further downstage, before she took control herself and led Meg away from the rapidly falling backdrop.

With a resounding crash, the heavily painted material fell to the stage, narrowly missing the petrified La Carlotta. Christine's dance shoe caught on a stray nail, and she tumbled to the ground, dragging Meg down with her.

The two girls coughed, brushing dust and plaster off of themselves as the theater dissolved into chaos. Shouts were given for Boquet while Armand and Firmin worked to soothe La Carlotta, Phillipe DeChagny and Piangi. Madame Giry immediately threw herself at her daughter, leaving a shocked Christine alone on the floor.

"Are you alright?" someone asked kindly, extending a hand to help her up. Funny, Christine remembered that voice. In fact, it sounded an awful lot like-

"Christine!"

Christine? No, it sounded nothing like her own voice, it was obviously a man's!

"Christine, don't you remember me? It's Raoul!"

Raoul?! She looked up immediately, and found herself still being held by her childhood friend, his kind green eyes staring into her own blue ones.

"Raoul!" she cried happily, wrapping her slender arms around his waist and squeezing him lightly.

"I can't believe it's you!" he exclaimed, brushing some of the plaster from her face. "What are you doing at the Opera Populaire, and where's your father? No, first tell me what the bloody hell is going on here."

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by yet another voice. This one was not kind or warm. It held no fondness, nor gentleness. It was hard and cold, frigid with disapproval, haunting as it echoed around the theater.

She recognized it all too well.

"Welcome, Monsieur, to my theater."

"Who are you?" Raoul demanded harshly, pulling Christine to his side protectively and breaking the fearful silence.

If it were possible, the Phantom's voice grew even colder. "Vicompte, were you not holding one of my chorus girls so close at the moment, you would be punished most harshly. But since you are new to my Opera, I shall forgive your impudence."

Christine shivered at the Phantom's words, silently asking Raoul to keep quiet. For everyone's safety.

"Allow me to introduce myself, my foolish Monsieurs. I am the Opera Ghost, owner of the Opera Populaire. You would do well to heed my instructions. They are enclosed in an envelope upon the stage. _Find it_."

Everyone on the stage erupted into a flurry of activity, searching the floor for the envelope.

"It's the Phantom of the Opera!" Meg cried, holding the black envelope in the air.

"Very good, Miss Giry," the Phantom said. "Now kindly have your friend, Miss Daae, read it for everyone."

Christine accepted the envelope from Meg's shaky hands numbly, now quite used to the Phantom's letters. He always requested that she read his instructions to everyone. It was almost as if he knew how much it shook her.

"To the new managers," she read, her voice only betraying a hint of the panic she felt. "Welcome to the Opera Populaire. Monsieurs Debienne and Poligny might have informed you, that it is I who is the true director. I the unseen genius."

Christine shuddered slightly and took a deep breath, knowing what was to come. As she continued on, the Phantom's voice joined her own, his silky baritone rising and twisting through the air in a chilling duet.

Christine did not know why this chilled her so. She did not fear the Phantom the way the others did, certainly not like Meg did. In fact, she held a sort of awed respect for him, and abject fascination with him that bordered on obsession.

Perhaps it was because of how he spoke. His inflections upon certain words and the way he drew out certain vowels threaded through her voice smoothly. It felt as if it was not his voice caressing her, but rather his hands.

But still, they read on.

"Box 5 is to be reserved for me at every show. Not one of you shall dare to enter it. I require a payment of two thousand franks each month. Madame Giry shall bring my salary to box 5, as usual."

The new managers stiffened at this, but a horrified look from Christine had them keeping their mouths shut. Bad things happened to those who interrupted the Phantom.

"However, things shall be changing. From now on, all Opera shall be left in Box 5 for me to approve. I am now in charge of all cast decisions, and have the right to change the cast as I see fit. Starting now."

To his credit, Monsieur Gabriel kept his mouth shut, accepting this news with class.

"La Carlotta, you have sullied the hallowed stage of this theater for long enough now. I hereby relieve you of your role in this opera. I suggest using this time to get rid of the frog living in your throat."

Her terror momentarily forgotten, La Carlotta stormed offstage with an indignant screech, leaving a flurry of Italian obscenities in her wake.

"Hold an open audition for the role of Alyssa if you cannot see the beautiful voice hiding under your nose. Keep in mind that I shall be watching this production _very closely_. Best regards, Monsieur la Phantome."


	2. Doux mais puissant

**Borders Crossed  
Act 1, Scene 2: **Doux mais puissant

Christine curled her legs up to her chest and listened to the buzz of the Opera Populaire in the morning.

Sunrise was when the theater started to come alive. Maids and cooks bustled around the halls in preparation for the inhabitants to awake. The Girys and the other ballet dancers hurried to their first practice of the day. Stage hands began moving heavy set pieces around, and in his office, Monsieur Gabriel prepared for auditions for the part of Alyssa.

Christine slipped out from the warm cocoon of blankets on her bed and padded to her wardrobe, mentally preparing herself for what she was about to do. She pulled on a plain, light pink day dress over her head and sat down at her dressing table.

She ran a brush through her long, dark blonde curls and stared at her container of hair pins longing for a moment, before sighing and loosely braiding her hair. If she didn't want to be late, Christine couldn't afford any time- consuming hair styles that day.

She left her room and made her way to the stage, where a handful of choir girls were gathered, Monsieur Gabriel seated in the front row. A few of them snorted when they saw Christine, most likely wondering why she had even bothered to come.

Christine blushed and hurried over to the piano to get her sheet music.

After her father's death, Christine was cast out into the world completely on her own, with absolutely no one to guide her. Madame Giry and Meg had tried their best to bring Christine out of her shell, but she had never grown out of the shyness that had ruled her as a child.

Because of her timid nature, others walked all over Christine, and used her for their own devices. She was scorned, mocked and made fun of wherever she went. She had neither guide nor guardian, and the angel of music had become but a distant dream.

Precious few people had ever heard Christine sing, and she knew she would be battling her stage fright during the audition.

The new managers, Andre and Firmin, rushed into the theater and took their seats on either side of Monsieur Gabriel. The other girls smiled falsely at the three men as they primped themselves, trying to make a good impression, while Christine studied the audition song with a warm feeling growing in the pit of her stomach.

They were to sing _Think of Me_, the very same aria Christine had run through her head hundreds of times, and had been longing to sing since the first time she heard it.

Monsieur Gabriel clapped his hands thrice and the girls immediately silenced themselves and stood at attention.

"Bonjour, girls," the music director said kindly, despite the strain in his voice. "As you well know, we are here to recast the part of Alyssa, in this month's production of _Hannibal. _I trust that you have all looked over the song?"

The girls nodded, although Christine hadn't seen any of the others give the music so much as a passing glance.

Gabriel nodded approvingly. "Good, then you're all prepared." He sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "I shall warn you, ladies, if you do get the part it will not be easy. We only have two weeks of rehearsal left, and the new Alyssa will have to memorize all of the lyrics, lines, and choreography."

Christine's silky eyebrows drew together and she bit her lip nervously. What if she couldn't do it?

At that moment, the gas lights flared and then burned out with an ear-shattering boom. Someone screamed as they were plunged into total darkness, and a familiar voice echoed around the theater.

"Did you not expect me to make an appearance at the auditions? If not, then you are even bigger fools than I first thought."

Somewhere in the room, the Phantom began playing an unearthly tune on a piano, its haunting notes sending chills down Christine's spine.

"Despite what you might have been told, my dears, you shall not be auditioning for Monsieur Gabriel..."

The candles on the grand chandelier suddenly sparked to life, and the light from the flames danced across their scared faces.

"You will be auditioning for me!"

"Now see here!" Firmin proclaimed angrily.

"Do you have a problem, my good messier?" the Ghost asked icily as the chandelier swayed menacingly above them.

"No," Firmin squeaked, taking his seat again, "By all means, proceed."

Two of the girls gave terrified screams, and more than half the group dashed off the stage in a mad panic.

"Begin," said the Phantom. And so they did.

The Phantom judged them harshly, sending several girls offstage in tears, and several more to the floor in a faint. One girl's voice was shaky, another pitchy, and still another quiet.

Hours passed and stress abounded. Firmin resembled a sweating pig, Andre a greased lamp post. Monsieur Gabriel was dabbing at his brow with his cravat. And all of a sudden, Christine was the last person left onstage.

She took shaky steps to center stage, the sheet music clenched in her hands.

"Well?" the Phantom demanded, impatience evident in his voice.

Christine took deep breaths, willing her body to calm down. She nodded once and the beginning bars of the song flowed smoothly and sweetly through the air.

All were silent as Christine's voice rose into the air. The sound was like no other.

It was clean and pure, rife with honesty, yet somehow with a grit to it that made the sound all the more realistic. Christine's voice was both rich and yet simple, both deep and yet soprano. She sung with perfect diction, crisp and loud as it echoed through the building.

She kept her eyes closed throughout the song, so she couldn't see the awed expressions on Firmin's, Andre's and Gabriel's faces. And no one could see the fascinated look on the Phantom's.

He stood up abruptly once Christine's song was done and dismissed her with three simple words. "You may go."

Christine gave an awkward curtsy and then left.

"You have found your Alyssa, messieurs," Erik said crisply. "I expect to see Christine Daae's name on the cast list."


	3. Colors

**Borders Crossed**  
**Act 1, Scene 3: Colors**

"Christine!" a voice called. "Do come over here!"

Christine bobbed up and down on her feet, looking for the source of the voice.

"We're right here," another person said.

She tried to push through the dense crowd of performers, but her soft "excuse me"s and gentle nudges weren't getting her anywhere.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!"

A hand closed around Christine's slender fore arm, and with a sharp tug, she found herself standing before Meg and Daisy.

"Meg, was that really necessary?" Daisy asked, and anxious look on her face.

"Of course it was," Meg retorted, straightening her skirts. "It isn't like she was making progress anyways. Were you, Christine?"

Christine blushed and shook her head, then added- for Daisy's benefit, "I really don't mind. Meg's right, I would have been standing there all day if she hadn't pulled me."

Daisy nodded. "Can you see the announcement?" she asked, a brown wave hanging in her face.

"No," Meg said, then stomped her foot in frustration. "Diana Fleet's hair is blocking it!"

"A shame, I'm very curious you know," Daisy remarked.

"Aren't we all," Christine mumbled, sighing.

She turned to look at her friend, a familiar sensation of both pity and amazement bubbling up in her stomach.

Daisy was very beautiful. She was tall and slender, with chocolatey brown waves and pale skin. Her eyes were a bright, clouded blue. She was gentle and kind, calm where Meg was furious, knowledgeable where Christine was confused, and more level-headed than any person Christine had ever met.

There was a reason for that.

You see, Daisy was very, very close to being blind. She wasn't completely sight-less though. Daisy could still make out shapes and colors and light, but according to her, the entire world was like one big, chaotic, hazy blur.

Meg had once asked Daisy how she was able to sight-read if she couldn't exactly see. Daisy had then showed them how she did it, by rubbing her hands over the the sheet music. Wherever the page was softer or sticky with ink, she would rub her finger up and down that place to figure out what the note was.

"Yes, she's moving!" Meg cried, ripping Christine from her thoughts.

"Can you see it now?" asked Daisy.

Meg squared her narrow shoulder and leaped forward before anyone else could block their way to the cast list.

"Meg, where are you?" Daisy asked. She turned to Christine and said, "What is she doing now?"

A wave of performers rushed past them and Meg grabbed hold of Daisy's arm so that they wouldn't be separated.

"Meg is looking at the cast list," she replied once they were no longer in danger of being swept away.

"Oh, alright then," Daisy said, relaxing once more. "I was worried that something had happened to her. It was quite silly, was it not?"

Christine winced, one of the ballet girls was stepping on her foot. "Only a tad," she agreed. "I do wish that Meg would hurry up, it's so crowded here."

Daisy nodded as someone's elbow was jammed into Christine's stomach. "There are so many colors, it's quite confusing."

"I can imagine," Christine wheezed, her eyes watering. "Don't worry, Meg is walking to us now, we can go some where else that's less crowded."

"A rather good idea in my opinion," Meg remarked, leading them out of the fray and through the maze of hallways that comprised the theater. She finally stopped at the doors to the much-neglected reliquary.

It was ill-advised for those who valued their privacy to move to the Opera Populaire. Over a hundred performers called the building their home, as well as double that amount of crew and staff. There were very few places to go if one wanted to hold a private conversation, and since Christine and Daisy's rooms were rather small, the girls only had one place to call the group's own.

Located just behind the staircase to the roof, the reliquary was small and dusty, made of dark grey stone and featuring a single first-class relic of Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music. It included a solitary stain-glass window and few candles that could be lit in fond memory of a loved one.

The devoutly-religious Christine could often be found there, as well as a portrait of her father that remained a permanent fixture in the room. Although she attended daily mass at the nearby Notre Dame cathedral, Christine visited the reliquary at least once a day to keep the flame burning, to cry or to pray the novena of Saint Cecilia. Daisy or Meg came with her on some occasions, and over time the room had become a sort of haven for all three of them.

Meg pushed open the heavy oak doors and swept into the room, followed closely by Daisy and then Christine.

Each girl bowed to the monstrance in respect before taking their seats. Meg bobbed her head and dropped into a un-lady like position on the floor, Daisy bowed from her waist and perched on the window ledge, and Christine genuflected but remained standing near the candles.

"Close the door, Christine," Meg instructed her. "I don't wish for us to be disturbed."

Christine did as she was told and shut the door, the thick wood blocking out the sounds of the opera house.

Meg took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, a broad grin grew on her svelte mouth until she was positively beaming in excitement.

There was a flip in Christine's stomach of nervousness and hope and possibly anxiety.

"They chose you for the role!" Meg exclaimed finally, flying up from the ground and colliding with Christine in a hug. "Oh I can barely believe it, you're going to sing Alyssa!"

Daisy gasped sharply before clapping her hands together. "Christine! Oh good Lord, I could burst I'm so happy for you!"

Christine remained silent as Meg pulled back from the hug, trying to let the news sink in and register.

She had gotten the role...

She had gotten the role.

She had gotten the role!

Tears suddenly started brimming in her eyes, and she dashed across the room to the monstrance. Christine kissed the glass that separated her from the relic, overwhelmed with giddy, sweet relief and overwhelming joy.

"Thank you, thank you," Christine murmured, punctuating each statement with a kiss. "Oh God, thank you!"

She pulled away and laughed giddily, whirling around the room. "Thank you for praying for me, Saint Cecelia!" she called to the ceiling.

"Calm down, Christine," Meg said, giggling. "Before you knock over the candles and set the opera on fire."

Christine slowed, still giggling, and nodded. "I apologize Meg, it's just..." She tilted her head back and laughed again, the sound of it bouncing around the reliquary like a peal of bells.

"Don't apologize," Daisy said, smiling sweetly. "You're quite deserving of a good celebration, what with the way you've been practicing as of late."

"I certainly hope you're used to it now," Meg said resolutely. "Momma told me that you will be quite busy with rehearsals until _Hannibal _is over."

"Of course, of course, but I..." Christine let her sentence trail off and stared at the stain-glass window dreamily.

"But you, what?" Meg asked curiously.

Christine smiled softly, letting the old dream slip away again. "I... nothing. I was simply remembering an old bed time story..."

"Please tell it to us," said Daisy, another lock of hair hanging in her eyes.

Christine sighed, her mind wandering back in time to the days of Little Lotte and the Angel of Music.

"When I was a little girl, my father would always tell me about the Angel of Music. He had the most beautiful voice in all of creation, and every so often, he would come down from heaven and search the Earth for a mortal with a voice almost as glorious as his own. Once he found them, he would be their guide and guardian and bring them great glory... Papa told me that the angel was always singing for me, and if I tried hard enough, I would be able to hear him. Father said that once he was in heaven he would send the Angel of Music to find me..."

There was silence for quite a while as each girl pondered the story.

Christine let herself hope for a small time. Well, she had gotten the lead role... And _her_, a mere chorus girl, singing Alyssa? If that was possible, then surely- but no. No, she had given up on that dream a long time ago...

"Utter hogwash," Meg said suddenly.

"Meg!" Daisy exclaimed.

"What?" she asked. "I apologize Christine, but you simply _must _be realistic. It's a very nice and story and such, but it's just that, a _story_. Of course your father is watching over you, but an Angel of Music?"

Christine nodded in agreement. Meg was right. When she put it like that, the entire concept did seem rather absurd.

Daisy huffed and crossed her arms indignantly. "I for one, think it's a marvelous idea. Your father _is _in heaven, Christine, it's perfectly reasonable to believe he's sent an angel to watch over you."

Meg sighed dramatically and said, "Have a little sense, Daisy! An angel wouldn't come down to Earth just so he could tutor Christine. He would probably be too busy playing the harp, or whatever it is that one does in heaven."

"What do you think, Christine?" Daisy asked, looking at her expectantly.

Christine bit her lip and thought for a moment.

Daisy did make a good point, it was a possibility... And she had felt as though she were being watched lately.

She shrugged. "Why not? I have felt some sort of... presence, lately."

Meg groaned in exasperation while Daisy beamed in excitement.

Christine laughed. "_Here in this room, he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding. Somehow I know he's always been with me, he the unseen genius,_" she sang softly, almost to herself.

"_Christine you must have been dreaming, stories like this can't come true,_" Meg replied firmly.

Christine ignored her and looked at Daisy imploringly. "You can feel him too, can't you?"

Daisy nodded, rising from her seat. "_Now as I sing, I can sense him..._"

"_And we know he's here!_" Christine added.

Meg held her hands up, trying to restore sense to the conversation. "_You both are talking in riddles, what's happening to you?_"

But Christine and Daisy were deep into that state where dreams become vivid and reality unimportant. They were too far gone for Meg to bring them back now.

"_Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant me to your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer, secret and strange angel!_"

They waited in expectation for a few minutes, hoping for some sort of sign or apparition. But as the silence closed in around them more tightly, the spell was broken and practicality restored.

"See what I told you," Meg said crisply, striding over to the door. "The Angel of Music doesn't exist. Now can we please go? They'll be wondering where the new diva is."

With one last glance at the stain-glass window, Christine nodded and followed after Meg and Daisy.


End file.
